Her face was ghastly. Perhaps, after all, she hadn’t escaped so easily as her mother imagined. Perhaps, after all, she longed for her child and missed it with immeasurable bitterness, like any human mother. Angelica couldn’t bear to open the letter. For what other reason would Polly write to her but to tell her of the baby’s illness or death? She had warmly urged Angelica to come whenever she wished to see the child, but Angelica had refused. She didn’t want to see him there with Polly. She wished to--she must--look upon him as utterly lost to her. Once in a while she was overcome with longing, and would telephone simply to ask after him, and, reassured, would resolutely turn her mind away. But if he were really gone, no longer in the world! She opened the letter at last, and the very sight of it, before her brain had grasped its meaning, comforted her--the neatly formed letters, the friendly look of the page: DEAR ANGELICA: Dress yourself in your very nicest and go to see Miss Sillon in her shop, "Fine Feathers," on the south side of Washington Square. I spoke to her about you, and I believe there is a very good opportunity there for you. They want a milliner--some one to take a small salary and a share in the profits. They are nice girls, and you’ll enjoy being with them. I really think it is just what you want. Anyway, try it, won’t you? And let me know if it suits. Your friend, as always, POLLY GERALDINE. P. S.--He is doing splendidly. Angelica read the letter to her mother, all but the signature, and ate her supper in silence. "Sit down, mommer," she said. "I’ll wash the dishes. I guess I’ll lay off for a while to-morrow and go and see about this thing." III It was Angelica at her newest and best who walked across Fourth Street the next morning. She had for a long time sternly withheld most of her wages from her mother, who needed the money for vital necessities, and had bought herself a decent outfit, to go with her new soul. She was plainly dressed, but no longer with a trace of shabbiness. She wore a neat dark suit, a black sailor hat, good boots and gloves. Her swagger was gone, and so was her provocative and insolent glance; she had a sobriety and decorum quite beyond reproach.